


Over Thin Ice

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Children, Alternate Universe - Middle School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Hockey, M/M, figure skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 18:25:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2078481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is a junior figure skating champion; Grantaire is a peewee hockey player. That's it, that's the fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over Thin Ice

**Author's Note:**

> I was prompted to write Enjolras and Grantaire as competitive figure skaters, and I honestly don't know anything about figure skating, so I decided to incorporate my favorite sport instead: hockey.
> 
> They're in junior high (i.e. eleven or twelve years old), so obviously underage but I didn't tag it because literally nothing happens because they're eleven years old, so really. Title is from a Ralph Waldo Emerson quote: "In skating over thin ice, our safety is our speed".
> 
> Beyond that, usual disclaimer applies as always. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

Enjolras’s expression was full of pure concentration as he went into his spin, his body taut and in complete tune with the movement, and he knew without looking that it was a beautiful spin, and he came out of it smoothly, his skates flashing against the ice. He was about to go into his next move when he heard someone laugh on the sidelines, and it threw off his concentration.

Skidding to a halt, he glared at the crowd of hockey players leaning over the boards as they watched him skate. “Do you have a problem?” he snapped, assuming that they did — they were roughly his age, and being eleven, far too many of his classmates already whispered or talked directly to Enjolras’s face about his choice to be a figure skater. He tried to shrug it off, since his closest friends, Combeferre and Courfeyrac, didn’t really care, but, well, it was junior high. And guys were jerks.

Most of the hockey players looked away, trying to pretend like they weren’t just watching, but one grinned at him, his black hair falling into his face since he hadn’t yet put his helmet on. “Well, it’s our time on the ice,” he pointed out, though he sounded friendly enough, not accusatory, even though Enjolras bristled.

“There’s plenty of ice for all of us,” he said frostily, even though it probably wasn’t true — having only half or a third of the ice would throw off the cadence of his routine, and he was sure that the hockey team, peewee though they may be, probably would need to use the whole ice for their drills.

The hockey player didn’t seem affected by Enjolras’s tone — if anything, his smile grew even wider. “Maybe,” he said, almost playfully. “But only if you’d be willing to do some drills with us. Which I’m sure that you totally would, and be very good at, too.”

Enjolras scowled. “Only if you’d be willing to practice with me,” he shot back. “As I’m sure you totally would, and be very good at, too.”

His words were a clear challenge, and though the goalie and a winger seemed inclined to try to stop the hockey player, he nonetheless shook them off and stepped out onto the ice. “Seems like a deal to me,” he said easily, skating over to Enjolras, his movements smooth despite his pads. “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

For a moment, Enjolras gaped at him, because almost all the hockey players he had encountered thought that figure skating was weak and beneath them. But then he straightened to his full height, which was taller than the dark-haired kid in front of him. “Fine,” he said haughtily, then hesitated and added reluctantly, “I’m Enjolras, by the way.”

“And I’m Grantaire,” the hockey player returned, still grinning. “And I knew who you were. Everyone knows who you are. Junior champion figure skater and all that. Plus we went to school together. I think you know Bossuet and Joly?”

He gestured at the goalie and the winger, who Enjolras vaguely recognized from his fifth grade class. They hadn’t been as good of friends with Enjolras as Combeferre and Courfeyrac, but were nonetheless decent guys, and he waved at them, smiling as they waved back. But his smile slid off his face as he turned back to Grantaire, something more determined in his expression. “So you think you can figure skate?” he asked Grantaire, his tone challenging again.

Grantaire shrugged. “I’m not wearing the right skates,” he said, gesturing down at his hockey skates. “But I think I’d like to try.”

“Fine,” Enjolras said, tossing his blond curls as he skated a short distance from Grantaire. “Then try to keep up with me — if you can.”

He fully expected Grantaire to not even bother as he skated away from him, preparing to start a few basic moves from his routine. But Grantaire followed right with him, still with that easy smile, and when Enjolras launched into his routine, Grantaire followed. There were many things he couldn’t do, limited as he was by his skates — he could do almost nothing on his toes, for instance, including many of the more technical spins — but his footwork was impeccable, despite his limitations, and Enjolras almost lost his own rhythm from trying to watch him match Enjolras almost step for step and spin for spin.

And one thing that Grantaire definitely could do, hockey skates and pads and all, was lift Enjolras, and he did, when Enjolras least expected it — they were coming out of a turn and Enjolras was debating between going for a spin or for a jump, but Grantaire was there instead, his touch light but confident against Enjolras as he lifted him with ease and obvious skill, turning in a rotational lift as he did.

Enjolras felt his breath catch in his throat, and he was pretty sure he didn’t breathe properly until Grantaire set him almost reverently back on the ice, his smile at once triumphant and cautious as he scanned Enjolras’s face for his reaction. Though Enjolras was sure he at first looked shocked, he quickly tried to change his expression into something more neutral, even if he couldn’t quite mask his astonishment. “Why aren’t you a skater?” he gasped finally as he came to a halt, staring at Grantaire, who shrugged, looking a little embarrassed.

“I was. My mom got me started when I was little. But my dad thought it was, well, girly.” He scratched the back of his neck, conspicuously not looking at Enjolras. “He wasn’t going to let me do something _sissy_.” He spat the last word bitterly, and Enjolras nodded, recognizing the sentiment far too well. “So I decided to do hockey since I could at least skate that way.”

Enjolras frowned. “Well I think that’s a waste of your skills,” he told Grantaire. “You could be good — like, seriously good. Better than me even.”

Grantaire made a face and shrugged again. “I don’t know about that.” He flashed a sudden smile at Enjolras. “Besides, the only way that I would want to skate again would be with you.”

Enjolras’s frown deepened. “The International Skating Union says that same sex couples aren’t allowed to skate together,” he pointed out, though his words seemed a little hollow, and he could tell that he was blushing slightly at what Grantaire had said.

Grantaire just grinned as he slowly skated backwards away from him. “And you would let that stop you?” he asked, as his coach called his name sharply from the sidelines. Though he picked up his pace of skating back towards the bench, he nonetheless kept looking at Enjolras, who felt his blush deepen, even as he couldn’t help but smile back at Grantaire, though the gears in his head were turning.

He might just have decided on something to work towards, and he didn’t think it would take much to get Combeferre and Courfeyrac on board, and from there—

Well, from there, the possibilities were endless, and his smile when he skated to the other bench, where he had left his bag, was fierce. He might only be eleven years old, and awkward for his age (though graceful on his skates, so much more than he even realized), but Enjolras had always thought that he was going to change the world. And Grantaire might have just given him the motivation to do it.

(And as he unlaced his skates, he tried not to stare as Grantaire and the other hockey players went through their paces, especially Grantaire, who proved just as adept with a hockey stick in his hands as he had skating with Enjolras. At least, Enjolras tried not to stare  _much_.)


End file.
